


Cultural Differences

by raiyana



Series: The Reader Inserts [17]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Cultural Differences, Dwarf Courting, Dwarf Culture & Customs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 10:41:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12479716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raiyana/pseuds/raiyana
Summary: The horror of a pixie cut in Dwarven society





	Cultural Differences

“She must be in mourning,” Kíli decided. Beside him, Fíli nodded.

“Well, lads,” Nori began, shooting you an awkward glance and making you realise they were talking about you. “In my experience, ladies of Men who have their hair cut that short… well, usually the father did it to shame her for lying with someone she shouldn’t have.” Kíli gave you a wide-eyed stare at that, and Fíli’s eyes seemed close to popping out of his skull. You just gaped at Nori, completely overwhelmed. You had known culture was different here – how could it not be? – but… touching your hair, you could feel yourself blushing. The pixie cut was adorable on you; everyone said so, and you didn’t miss the weight of your long hair at all. Still staring dumbfounded at Nori, you completely forgot that you were meant to be handing out bowls of stew. _Was that what they all thought? Was that why Thorin had given you such a pitying look when Gandalf had finally arrived with the Company in Bree – late, you’d been ready for days – and added you to their number?_  Of course, you _had_ actually done what Nori believed – your father really wouldn’t have approved of some of the guys you’d slept with in college – but not with the same connotations as you suddenly realised he gave the act. Apparently, virginity mattered here – at least for women, you were quite sure _Fíli_ had slept with more than one dwarrowdam, for example – and for a moment you wondered if they all though you were some sort of harlot. No one had made inappropriate comments – they joked, and sometimes there was a lewd comment or two, but not usually aimed in your direction – but you still felt a twinge at the thought that they believed you to be some sort of… _floozy_. Thrusting the bowls at the two young ones, you whirled on your heels, stomping back to the fire.

 

“You’re in a bad mood,” Thorin’s voice disturbed your brooding staring at the fire quietly. “Is there a problem?” You flinched. Looking around you, you realised that the rest of them were asleep; obviously it was Thorin’s turn on watch.

“My hair…” you whispered, not quite sure what made you want to tell him.

“Yes, I’m aware of the custom of Men,” Thorin said softly, like he was trying to gentle a spooked pony. You almost laughed; he sounded so concerned.

“I cut it myself!” you hissed. He looked stunned.

“Were you attacked?” he asked, seemingly horrified.

“No!” you cried, staring at him. Thorin’s stiff shoulders slumped; relief, you realised. “In my world, cutting your hair short isn’t significant of anything,” you muttered, poking at the fire with a stick, “only fashion and taste. I _like_ my hair this way.” Truthfully, it ought to be cut soon, but where were you going to find a mirror and some scissors in the middle of nowhere? Thorin nodded slowly, his own tumbling locks falling across those broad shoulders in a way that shouldn’t have been possible considering how long it had been since you’d had more than a wash in a stream.

“It’s pretty,” he reassured gruffly; you weren’t quite sure whether he approved or not. “Don’t let the speculation get to you. Among our kin, cutting your hair or beard short is a sign of grief,” he ran his fingers over his own short beard, a far-off look in his blue eyes. “They only wondered if you were in mourning – Gandalf never gave us a reason for why you wanted to come along – Balin thought you might have been recently widowed,” he revealed, before adding in a low voice you probably weren’t meant to hear, “though she doesn’t _act_ like someone in mourning…” You burst into laughter.

“No, I’ve never been married,” you admitted, “not even close.” _Was it just your imagination, or did Thorin seem relieved at that information?_ “Do you signify other things with your hair?” you asked, curiosity overcoming your initial anger.

“Ahh, you can do braids for lineage,” Thorin said, stroking the ones that framed his strong face, “these are for the Line of Durin – only members of the Line may wear them, however. Then there’s Mastery braids,” he touched another one, which you hadn’t noticed before, “which are clasped with the symbol of your trade. Marriage braids,” he blushed, “which are braided during the wedding ceremony and may only be plaited or undone by yourself or your spouse; these are clasped with your combined seals and beads are added for living pebbles – children,” he added, at your questioning look. “No, I haven’t one of those; see Glóin’s?” he asked, pointing. “That braid can be placed either in the beard or the hair, though those who have found their One will usually braid the chin-braid differently to their normal style. Other than that, you can add markers that signify gender, age, even the Halls you call home.” He smiled softly. “The first three types are the most important, however, the rest is optional.” Again, your fingers twisted one of the longer locks of your hair, wondering what you would look like if you braided your hair with all that information – _was there a Mastery Braid for botanists?_ – sighing at the thought that you’d most likely come off as one of those sad sorority sisters who thought that a grass skirt and plastic flowers made her look Hawaiian for Halloween.

“We don’t do that,” you admitted, “there isn’t a standardized ‘look’ to convey who you are,” if there _was_ , some people in your circle of friends would have a much easier time with pronouns, for example, “though some people use tattoos or clothes for the same purpose, I guess.”

“Hair is important to Dwarrow,” Thorin replied, “but, if you don’t want to, we won’t force you to grow it longer.” For a moment, he scowled heavily, and you felt like giggling at the thought that your short hair affected him so much.

“Long hair is a hassle,” you sighed, letting go of the lock – twisting your hair around your fingers was a nervous habit you had never been able to break. “I used to have it down to the middle of my back,” you revealed, surprised to hear him gasp. Looking up, you caught his sapphire gaze, surprised by the darkening of those irises. _Was Thorin… that looked like desire to you._ Lowering your eyes once more, trying to convince yourself that the heat in your cheeks was due to your closeness to the fire. Thorin cleared his throat.

“Sounds… pretty,” he said lamely.

“Pretty unmanageable,” you scoffed, not even wanting to _think_ about the difficulty of caring for the long mess of curls that was your hair; being on the road in a world that had never even heard of shampoo – they used eggy soap on their hair here! – let alone conditioner, you felt thankful once more than you’d chosen to cut your hair only weeks before arriving in Middle-Earth and stumbling into a wizard.

“I could braid- I mean _teach_ you to braid it,” Thorin offered, but you caught the glow in his cheeks when you glanced at him sideways. You blushed at the thought of those thick fingers wrapped in your tresses, a shiver of lust running down your spine at the thought of his hands on your body.

“Maybe I’ll grow it out,” you heard yourself offering, your tongue nearly stumbling on the words in your eagerness, “if you’ll braid it for me.” Thorin groaned low in his throat, and you had a feeling that your comment meant more to him than you knew. Blushing again, you stubbornly kept looking at the fire.

“Aye,” he agreed hoarsely, “I’ll braid your hair for you.”


End file.
